


You're the moon, I'm the water.

by stelleappese



Series: Wallander [2]
Category: Wallander (UK TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelleappese/pseuds/stelleappese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Linda calls to say she can't come to Ystad for Christmas. Magnus decides to drop by at Kurt's house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're the moon, I'm the water.

**Author's Note:**

> This may very well be the first thing I’ve ever written in English without translating it from Italian. Please, feel free to point out any mistake! :)

Kurt set the mug on the coffee table, perhaps with too much enthusiasm, since big drops of tea went everywhere. He started collecting some papers cursing under his breath, then, while he was inspecting them for any sign of stains, his glance wandered and he stopped, like frozen, staring outside the window to the sad, gray, sky.

Linda had called him just a few minutes before, while he was setting two fat shopping bags on the table and going over the receipe for the Christmas Eve dinner in his head, hoping that he wouldn't set anything on fire, this time. She'd told him, with a plane, emotionless voice, that she wasn't going to come over for the Holidays. He'd felt a familiar sting in his chest, and had wanted to argue, but someting in the tone of her voice made him give up, feeling suddently really tired.

He wondered if his father had ever felt the same way, all those times he'd called him to tell him he had to work late, he couldn't drop by and play cards, of have dinner, or ever just talk for a while.

Kurt spent his whole life in the constant fear he would grow up to be exactly like his father. Maybe it actually happened, he just hadn't noticed yet.

He wanted to sit on the couch, but the sky looked mesmerizing, even though he couldn't have said why. He sat on the floor, clutching the mug between his hands, feeling the warmth soak through his skin, he almost felt it seep into his veins.

Snow was starting to fall, dancing lightly while it came down.

He suddently remembered the street he grew up on. It must've been almost forty years before. The first day of the new year had just begun, and people were in the street, shooting fireworks from every sidewalk, from the park down the road. Everything had been filled with noise and the smell of gun powder, and Kurt had been standing in the middle of the road, looking in front of himself instead then at the fireworks.

It had looked like something out of a movie. Pale white smoke everywhere, too thick to be mist, ghost-like figures wandering about. 

Kurt didn't remember exactly what he had felt like right in that moment, but thinking about it just now he thought that maybe he'd got a glance of the other side. Maybe those people walking in the smoke hadn't been alive after all.

Whatever he'd thought, though, mustn't have lasted long. He remembered his father putting a hand on Kurt's little shoulder. He remembered looking up at his face, but the memory stopped there, and as much as he desperately wanted to remember what his father's face had looked like, he couldn't.

It felt important. Like his father's expression held the key to some kind of mystery. Had he seen the dead come to life too, that night? Was he in that same place right now? Wandering in the cold, surrounded by thick, white smoke?

When the bell rang Kurt jumped, startled, spilling tea on his shirt and sighing, defeaten. He got up, placed the cup on the coffee table again, and went to open the door.

Magnus looked at him like he was asking for permission to just even be outside his door. Snowflakes were melting in his curly hair. He studied Kurt's face for a couple of seconds before smiling at him and raising a plastic bag.  
“I bought oranges.”  
He said, without even asking to come inside.  
“Do you like turkey?”  
Asked Kurt, then he wondered if any of their outside-of-work conversation would ever have even a slight resemblance to something sane people would say.  
“I guess.”  
“Come in.”

Magnus observed Kurt silently while he was trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do. He could _sense_ Magnus smile, even if he had his back to him.  
“Do you know how much it weights?”  
Kurt turned to look at him, confused.  
“Should I?”  
He said, and his voice sounded so damn insecure he wanted to slap himself in the face, but Magnus just smiled and walked towards him, stopping by his side.  
“You need to know how much it weights to know how long it has to cook.”  
“Oh.”  
“Do you need a hand?”  
“No.”  
Said Kurt, but he stepped aside anyway.

Magnus' family couldn't come to Ystad, he said, mixing some spices in a bowl while Kurt sat at the table, peeling potatoes. He didn't seem to mind. Kurt found weird how at ease he was, how naturally Magnus moved in his kitchen, like it wasn't that big a deal. Kurt still remembered how awkward he'd been when he first got to Ystad. He couldn't even talk to him without blushing. Now Kurt doubted he could make him blush if he tried. 

He had a sudden flash of Magnus looking up at him from between his legs, those pretty blue eyes fixed steady in his, like a challenge. He realized he'd been peeling the same potato for five minutes and set it aside, trying to ignore the warmth in his belly.

“Two hours to go.”  
Announced Magnus, washing his hands. Kurt looked, captivated, at the curve of his back, the shape of his shoulders. He knew well enough how he looked like with his back arched, how his muscles would tense and ripple under his skin, how they would feel under Kurt's hands. He was just thinking about his nails scaping lightly Magnus' pale hips when he turned and handed him a slice of orange. 

Kurt almost _heard_ a voice order him to grab the orange slice with his fingers, instead he found himself leaning over and biting it. He felt the juice trickle down his chin, and saw Magnus smile and come closer, cupping his hands over Kurt's face and licking the juice off, before tilting his head and kissing him hungrily. He sucked on Kurt's lower lip before pulling away. Kurt put a hand on the back of Magnus' neck, pulling him closer and resting his forehead against Magnus'.  
“Do you even know what is going on?”  
Asked Kurt, because he sure as hell didn't.  
“Not really.”  
“Aren't you afraid?”  
“It's you. Why should I be afraid?”

He twirled Magnus' hair around his fingers, looking him in the eye like the answer to all things could be found in the depths of those pale abysses.  
He let a hand slip beneath Magnus' shirt, and felt peculiarly pleased when he let in a sharp, quivering, beath.  
“Two hours is plenty of time.”  
He said.  
“We should, uhm...”  
Magnus swallowed and wet his lips.  
“We should probably check on the turkey from time to time. Don't you think?”  
“No.”  
Whispered Kurt, brushing the tip of his nose against Magnus' jaw.  
“I really don't.”


End file.
